


What to Buy the Kingsman Who's Alive After All

by AnnaofAza



Series: Hartwin Week [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Eggsy needs to get a grip and a clue, Friendship, Gen, Gifts, M/M, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think there’s exactly a Hallmark for congratulations on surviving a shot to the head. I suppose congratulations on your recovery might work—“</p>
            </blockquote>





	What to Buy the Kingsman Who's Alive After All

**Author's Note:**

> This can be considered a companion to [the previous one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4614450)

Eggsy’s heart is pounding wildly, and Roxy worries that he’s going to faint dead away. “I can’t do this,” he mutters. “I really can’t do this. This is going to end with a failure. How can I face Harry then?” But if there’s one thing Eggsy Unwin is known for, Roxy knows that it’s the fact that he never gives the fuck up.

Trembling, his fingers adjust his glasses, and Roxy watches green words detail the information necessary on the miniature screens. He swears under his breath. Roxy winces. Kingsman technology is supposed to be one of the best, but not a single thing is even remotely helpful. Eggsy then curses Merlin, curses the glasses, curses Harry, and curses himself.

 _"Eggsy.”_ Roxy’s tone used to be quite sympathetic, but now, it’s getting steadily irritated with each passing minute. She tucks the glasses away into her purse, tapping her foot. “Eggsy, come  _on._ ”

“Roxy…” Eggsy groans, removing his glasses in exasperation. “I…I just don’t know what to do.”

Roxy sighs.

“Eggsy,” she says as patiently as she can, “whatever you give him, he’ll love it.”

“Even if I give him a pair of socks?” Eggsy snaps irritably.

“Even then.” His best friend sighs again. “Why don’t you just give him a card? Or some flowers? Though,” she muses, “I don’t think there’s exactly a Hallmark for  _congratulations on surviving a shot to the head._ I suppose  _congratulations on your recovery_ might work—“

 _“Roxy._ This is serious!” Their argument has drawn in a concerned employee of the shop, and Eggsy forces himself to lower his voice, as Roxy diffuses the situation with a quick, reassuring smile. “I just—I want him to know I’m happy he’s back,” Eggsy finishes desperately.

_Oh._

She understands. In the morning, Eggsy airs out the house, spot-cleans the counters, vacuums the rugs, and even dusts that creepy dog over the toilet. During the meetings, Eggsy is the one everyone looks to for updates on Harry. In their spare time, Roxy and Merlin are asked to help him research head injuries, potential side-effects, and different methods of therapy. And in the evenings, while Harry was confined to strict bed rest in the infirmary, Roxy will stop by to bring dinner—usually take-out of some sort.

As per tradition, she joins the two in catching up on Kingsman business and joking around here and there. It’s strange to see Harry hooked up to an IV and propped up on white hospital pillows—as well as in his ugly red robe—but Eggsy treats it as if Harry’s simply sitting down to tea. But there’s an undercurrent of consideration there, the way Eggsy touches his arm when a frustrated Harry stumbles upon a word or casually picks up a portion of food Harry accidently drops on the floor with a  _five second rule_ outburst, scooping it into his mouth, much to Harry’s and Roxy’s united disgust.

Last night, Eggsy shook Harry’s hand in farewell, and neither had quite let go. Roxy had waited silently in the doorway, Harry’s hands clasped over Eggsy’s, both of them looking at each other as if they’d been reunited after ten years. Eggsy had grinned more broadly than Roxy ever seen him, and Harry was smiling with open affection. Neither of them had moved until one of the doctors called for a nurse in the hallway, and Harry reluctantly pulled away. “Until tomorrow, then,” he’d said.

Not for the last time, Roxy thinks,  _idiots._

“I think he knows, Eggsy,” Roxy says firmly, but with a gentle pat of Eggsy’s shoulder.

The flush of panic melts away, and Eggsy now looks more nervous than she’d seen him entering the first shop. “I…” He gives out an exaggerated little cough. “You think?”

“Oh, I _know_.” Roxy says, reaching for something on the shelf they’ve been standing in front of for the past half-hour. “Here.” She slides the  _congratulations on your recovery_ card into Eggsy’s hand, and points to a large basket of stuffed animals. “I think that one looks like Mr. Pickle, yeah?”

Eggsy grins, and throws an arm around her shoulder as they stride towards their goal. “You’re the best, Rox.”  


End file.
